


cast away

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver has grown used to a lot of things on the island. This isn't one of them.</p><p>(Or what's going on in Oliver's head in that scene <strike>c'mon, you know which one</strike> in 1x14.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	cast away

**Author's Note:**

> After watching 1x14, I just had to do it. Come on, fandom, let's sail this ship into the sunset!
> 
> Not beta'd and written in a rush. Let me know if there's anything that needs fixing.

Oliver breathes in deep, fingers wrapped tight around the handle, hand steadier than he would have thought as Slade agonizes under his touch, screams echoing in his ears. His stomach has flipped some many times he’s not sure how its contents haven’t spilled on the floor yet. Apparently, eating less than a handful has its privileges.

He’s almost there—he can hear the familiar sound of metal against metal, a clink he’s grown more used to than he’s comfortable with. The gushing sound the bullet makes as it flies out of Slade’s arm is just another one he’ll file away in his memory and treasure for God only knows how much longer. In that island, who says it won’t come in handy?

Nausea hits him again, hard and fast as the smell of blood, sweat, and wet leaves invades his senses, making his throat work hard to swallow around itself and keep it all inside. Slade’s snarls grow into gasps for air and Oliver’s knees buckle as his vision turns red.

“I’m impressed,” Slade says between a breath and another. Oliver steadies himself. “You didn’t puke.”

He’s not so sure he hasn’t. “I swallowed it.”

He coughs into the back of his hand and Slade nods just slightly, the outline of his shoulders less tense, but still taut. 

“You can untie me now,” is the next command, and Oliver obeys, undoes the knot around Slade’s wrists while ignoring a fond memory of Laurel’s hands tied behind her back, a playful smile set on her lips as Oliver settled between her legs, hands skimming up her thighs.

_“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked her, heart coming to a stop, and received an eager nod in return._

He wishes that were his current situation. “Why did you want me to tie you up in the first place?”

_”Sometimes we need to do something different,” she said, eyes flickering with something that wasn’t quite the Laurel he knew. He liked it. “You know, for a change.”_

Oliver makes his way around Slade, rope sliding against his fingers. Slade glances up at him when he comes to a stop. “A man in pain is unreliable. I was afraid I might kill you,” Slade says. He also likes the way Slade’s eyes are fixed on him, but that doesn’t last long. “Thanks," comes after a short silence, and it’s almost too sheepish, much unlike the guy Oliver saw kill three men with two swipes of his sword.

If they’re already heading into weird territory, Oliver doesn’t want to be the one to blame. He chuckles, the sound foreign to him. “I just,” he breathes out, feeling it might be a good time to crack a joke, “I’m trapped on an island and my only friend is named Wilson. So...”

Yeah. Tom Hanks has probably got nothing on him.


End file.
